


The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain

by Lisafer



Series: The Dickens Arc [7]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Forum: Goldenlake, Ghosts, Wyldon Winter, multi-gen romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wyldon is sick, and is visited by the most unlikely of people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain

“He’s been tossing and turning all evening,” Cathrea tells her eldest sister. “His fever is rising, so Margarry is fetching a healer.” 

Eiralys sits next to her father, feeling his forehead. “This isn’t good,” she murmurs. They’ve already lost a mother; the idea of losing their father as well makes her hands shake with fear. At least this time the palace healers are close at hand. “When did it start?”

“When he was coming home from the border. He was traveling with Lady Knight Keladry, and by the time they made it to Corus, she was worried enough to bring him straight to Margarry.”

“We should be sure to thank her.”

“She comes to check on him often; she was very worried for his health.”

“That’s kind of her.”

Cathrea tilts her head to one side thoughtfully, but says nothing. She believes it’s more than kindness, having seen the lady knight’s face creased with worry. It’s easy enough to imagine a young girl developing a crush on her commanding officer.

***

Wyldon feels as though he’s been walking for days in the blazing desert sun, despite being surrounded by the Cavall forests he’s known his whole life. These are the woods he explored as a boy, traveled through as a young man, and now – as an older man – still loves. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sighs.

“Wyl.” The voice is musical, as thick as honey. 

He halts; it’s been too long since he’s heard that voice, and hearing it now makes his whole body tremble. “Vivenne?” he whispers, turning around.

She smiles, and his heart beats erratically. Is it possible that he’d forgotten how her smile affected him?

“How… what’s happening?”

The edges of her smile falter. “You’re quite sick, Wyl.”

“Is this the Black God’s way of saying it’s my time?” He feels a tug of regret; there’s so much he still wants to do in his life. But then there’s Vivenne.

“Perhaps,” she says, walking toward him. She looks different, but the same, all at once. She’s not the frail woman he last saw, thin and pale. Her hair is as dark and glossy as when they first met, but her face does not have the angular sharpness it did back then. She’s a conglomeration of the years he loved her, he realizes. “Do you think it’s your time?”

He shakes his head and reaches out to take her hand, but she pulls away from him. “I’ve missed you more than you can imagine,” he tells her.

“Even though you’ve pledged your heart elsewhere since?” She raises one eyebrow archly.

“You know everything that’s happened since…?”

“Since my death? Yes, I know what’s happened in your life, Wyl. And I know that you’re likely now wondering if I’m simply a figment of your imagination – but that’s up to you to decide.”

“I don’t want you to be.” Reaching to her to her again, he cups her face in his large hands. It pleases him that she doesn’t draw away; she allows him to kiss her sweetly – the kind of kiss they used to share while marveling at how perfectly they were suited to each other, how happy they were in their marriage.

“You shouldn’t have done that, love.”

***

“His fever’s spiking.” There’s a quiver in Margarry’s voice, and she buries her face in her husband’s shoulder. 

“Father’s fought worse,” Cathrea reminds her. 

Kel can’t take her eyes off of his pale face, frightened by the sweaty sheen over his eyelids and forehead. “He has?” Her voice is calm and smooth, masking the tumult in her heart. 

“He caught the Sweating Sickness years ago,” Cathrea tells her. She places a cold cloth on his forehead and makes room for the palace healer to do her work. “Mother was sick with fright, and Sunarine spent two days straight in the chapel, praying for his health.”

“That’s where she is now.” Owen’s voice is muffled by Margarry’s hair, but Kel can hear the worry in his voice.

The healer frowns, her eyes closed and her hands holding Wyldon’s firmly. “He’s getting worse,” she murmurs. “Is the whole family in Corus?” 

Cathrea nods. “We’re all here. Should I send for Eiralys and Sunarine?”

“Not just yet,” the healer says. “He still has some fight left in him. But if he has any family outside of the city, it would be worth sending for them.” Her voice softens. “Just in case.”

“We’re all here,” Cathrea repeats, her voice barely more than a whisper.

 

***

“We mustn’t touch,” Vivenne says, stepping away from him entirely.

“I don’t understand.” 

“You wouldn’t,” she says with a sigh. “The closer you are to me, the further you are from the living realm. If you cross too far, you can’t go back.”

“Is this what it was like when you…?”

“Not really.” She walks ahead of him, her hands behind her back as she looks up at the trees. “You’re delirious, Wyl.”

“I’m conjuring all of this, aren’t I?” He shakes his head, unsure of what to believe.

“I’d be impressed if you were,” Vivenne says with a laugh. “I can’t fathom your imagination being quite so rich as this.”

“Very funny.” Wyldon can’t help but think that if this were all in his head, Vivenne would be nicer to him. But then, he loved it when she mocked him, sharing a wicked smile that she reserved just for him.

“You’ve made an interesting life for yourself in my absence,” she says, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’ll admit that I was surprised to know that you were in another woman’s bed.”

“Not nearly as surprised as I was, I assure you.” He can’t help but feel a little sheepish; Vivenne has known him better than anyone he’s ever met. He wonders what she makes of it.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Wyl; you’re a grown man. I could hardly expect you to remain chaste in honor of my memory.” She tilts her head to one side, reminding him of Catry when she contemplates things. “On the other hand, she’s rather young, don’t you think?”

He nods. “She is. But she’s mature.”

“I remember when she was a squire, and you told me that she was among the most mature you’d ever taught.”

“Yes, I recall.” He presses his lips together tightly; he doesn’t like to dwell on Keladry’s training years, when she was a child and he was already a grown man. A husband and father.

Vivenne stops completely, spinning to face him. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you? Not even to me?”

“Especially not to you.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Wyldon. You’ve grown to love her, and that’s to be expected, with all that’s transpired between you.”

***

“I still love you, Vivenne.”

Kel’s heart twists at the sound of his raspy voice. Even more as she registers what he’s said. 

Margarry bursts into sobs, taking her father’s hands. “Please tell me he’s hallucinating – that he’s not with Mother!” she begs Kel, tears streaming down her cheeks.

But Kel can’t promise such a thing. She comforts her friend as best she can, all the while trying to convince herself that he is dreaming. “I should go,” she whispers, turning away from the bed, from her love, and fighting to take deep breaths. When Margarry protests, Kel shakes her head. “I’ll send for Lady Eiralys; you should be with family right now.” 

***

“Of course you do. But it doesn’t change the fact that you love her, Wyl.” Vivenne’s expression is distant and sad. “And she loves you, too.”

“I know.” Thinking of Keladry gives him a pang of longing. 

“I always tried not to be jealous,” she admits, “when you were in Corus, surrounded by court ladies, and I was home at Cavall with the girls. I worried that some elegant woman would bewitch you, and that you would fall in love with her instead of me.”

“That’s ridiculous. You were always everything to me.”

“And when I came to my senses, I knew that, love.” She smiles wistfully. “No one could have loved me better than you. But no one can love her better than you, either.”

“Vivenne.” It doesn’t feel right, hearing her encourage him to love someone else.

“She’ll take care of you,” Vivenne insists, her eyes filling with tears. “You need someone who will make you smile, who will keep you from being too uptight.”

“I’m not uptight.”

“You are, and Goddess knows I still love you for it.” She wipes away her tears with her fingertips. “Have you considered…?”

“Considered what?”

“Marrying her?”

It was something he’d given quite a bit of thought to, actually. It was Vivenne’s memory that kept him from acting upon the urge. “Yes,” he admits, his voice low and uneven.

“You’re sullying her name if you don’t,” Vivenne points out, frowning deeply. “How would you feel if it was one of our girls?”

“Please don’t make comparisons like that.” It’s hard to think of Keladry as the same age as Cathrea, even though their birthdates are less than three weeks apart. He doesn’t like to think of where he was in life when she was born.

“Fine then,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Try to think how her parents feel.”

He thinks of all the things Keladry has explained about knowing that noble marriage wasn’t likely in her future since she began training for knighthood, but doesn’t bring them up. “The girls will hate it.”

“They’ll grow accustomed to it.”

“And think of the gossip, Viv.”

“Do you think there isn’t gossip already?” She smirks the slightest bit. “If our daughters didn’t place you on a ridiculous pedestal, they’d believe the rumors that you’ve found a young play-thing.” 

“She’s not—”

“I know, Wyl. I know you far better than you even know yourself.”

***

“How’s he faring?” Owen asks his wife, massaging her shoulders. 

“Better, I think.” Margarry feels her father’s cheeks. “His fever spiked last night and he was thrashing and talking in his sleep. He’s resting more peacefully this morning.”

“You should get some rest,” he tells her. “Go and sleep – I can look after him.”

“Kel said she would come back after getting a few hours’ rest. When she does, be sure to thank her. She was wise to bring him here and demand the best healers.” Margarry kisses her husband’s cheek, then her father’s, and leaves.

***

“How would you feel if I proposed to her?” Wyldon asks as they walk into a sunlit clearing. He sits on a large boulder, sighing heavily. 

She shrugs, sitting on the mossy forest floor and pulling her knees up to her chin. “I would be relieved that you’re not lonely.”

“I want to marry her, Viv.” His voice cracks slightly; admitting it, he’s both elated and miserable.

“I know you do.”

“But if it will make you unhappy, I can’t do it.”

Patting the ground next to her, she beckons him to come over. “Do you remember what I told you when we said goodbye?”

“You told me to continue living.” 

She laces her fingers with his. 

“I thought that we weren’t to touch.”

“We shouldn’t,” she says, “but I can’t bear to have this conversation without touching you.” She gazes upon him with a fierce expression. “I wanted you to continue living, to continue loving. And if that means you marry Keladry of Mindelan, I can only wish that you are as content with her as I was with you.”

“It won’t be what we had,” he says, squeezing her fingers. “Nothing could be.”

“Promise me something?” 

“What?”

She leans her head against his shoulder and whispers: “Promise me you’ll be buried next to me? Even if you remarry?”

“Of course I will,” he replies softly, closing his eyes.

***

Just a few hours after noon, he wakes slowly, groggy and confused; Cathrea thinks he looks as emotionally weary as he is physically.

“You’ve been journeying in your sleep, Father,” she whispers, kissing his forehead. “I’m glad you’ve come back.”

With her assistance he sits up, and Eiralys brings him a bowl of broth. “I suppose we should let Sunarine know that she can finish her prayers now.”

“And Margarry?” he croaks. He wonders, as well, where Keladry might be.

“She’s sleeping; she kept vigil through the night.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, after a sip of the hot broth, “I want to speak with all four of you.” It will be a difficult conversation, telling his daughters that he hopes to remarry, but he wants to do it while his talk with Vivenne is still fresh in his mind. He owes it to them. He owes it to Keladry.

“Build up your strength, first, Father,” Eiralys instructs, sitting on the bed. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes falling on the portrait of Vivenne that rests on his bureau before he turns his gaze back to his eldest daughter. Eiralys’s eyes are nearly identical to her mother’s, just as she shares her tall, slender build. It comforts him, knowing that part of his wife will always be with him, that his decision to marry Keladry could never override the life he shared with Vivenne. “I promise I’m not going anywhere, either.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Goldenlake's second annual Wyldon Winter, the event that started the Dickens Arc.


End file.
